


It is what it is

by Rospergs



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Background Relationships, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, English is haaard, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-19 08:18:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13119786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rospergs/pseuds/Rospergs
Summary: “And you didn’t tell me about the pack!”That made Steve wrinkle his nose, caught off hand. “Uh? What pack?”Lord, Bucky felt like pulling his hair out.“Your pack!”Where Bucky has issues and Tony doesn't stop running for his life.





	It is what it is

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cattie_Bri3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cattie_Bri3/gifts).



> A present for Cattie_Bri3 for the 2017 WinterIron Holiday Exchange, roughly trying to follow the prompts, all smashed together, of:  
> «Tony grew up idolizing Sergeant Barnes, not Captain America, so when Bucky comes back Tony proceeds to trip all over himself fan hurling hard. Bucky thinks it’s the cutest thing ever.  
> Blushing  
> ABO, pining, happy endings, fluff, sub!Bucky»
> 
> I really feel I could have done better, but life happened and I didn't have more time D: I hope you like it anyway!

 

Bucky had promised himself he would not cower, which was proving to be king of difficult right now. The elevator was big, plenty of space even with the tower of muscles Steve kept being, but there seemed to be too many mirrors. He felt watched, felt eyes on his back even while he had it against the mirror itself, eyes fixed on the door.

Steve had said something about a robot, an AI of some kind --it had been difficult to understand between his panic attack _because of fucking Zola’s AI_ and Steve’s own lack of understanding of how the machine worked--, so maybe it was that. The AI was watching him, them, judging if he was dangerous. He tried to look at the corners, using his hair as a cover and peeking behind the locks to spot the cameras. Nothing.

Too small to be detected, then. Or they were so organic within the design of the elevator that he couldn’t pinpoint them. Or both things. That was _great_. He was back under Big Brother’s all-seeing eyes.

Steve frowned, tilting his head towards him in a silent question, and Bucky bristled even more.

“Don’t do that.”

“But you…”

“Don’t. Do. That.”

Steve’s lips turned into a fine line. It wasn’t the first time they had had this same argument, but Steve seemed to have finally understood this was not the hill he should die fighting for. Bucky didn’t care how tight they were seventy years ago, he didn’t want him scenting around him and perceiving his feelings before even he understood what they were.

At least he had the psychological review SHIELD had issued on his side on it, and he had waved it under Steve’s nose like his particular flag, smiling as the jerk he could recognize he was being at that moment.

Bucky straightened, smiling at himself at the memory and the offended look Steve had taken at having a medical report stating he was forbidden to show that he could smell Bucky. He choose to ignore what the review said afterwards, and the way Steve had gone all soft and misty eyed, trying to corral him into a hug for the next 30 minutes.

The chime of the doors opening brought him out of his reviere, and before he had any time to build up his walls again he saw himself surrounded by smells, pushed out of the elevator by the insistent hand of Steve.

“We are here, everyone!”

There were voices answering, and noise of people coming towards them from what should be the living room, but Bucky’s mind was far, far from all of that.

He hadn’t expected it. He knew, _knew_ there was an alpha in the team besides Steve, but he hadn’t expected him to be everywhere. And he was, oh dear Lord, everything smelled as alpha. The elevator had been almost sterile, but here…

Why the fuck hadn’t somebody told him they were a pack?

The tension that had been growing since he woke up this morning suddenly dropped, disappearing from his shoulders and neck. They were a pack, and they had visited him day after day to get him used to them, first to his cell in SHIELD, then to his hospital room after he lost it and tried to hurt himself, and finally to his “room” in SHIELD again, as Steve had been repeating time after time even while Romanoff just looked at the ceiling and tried not to sigh.

He blinked, trying to concentrate in the now and not in the past, but the meaning of those visits changed so much now that he knew. They hadn’t been sizing him up, trying to see how much of a danger he was --or at least that hadn’t been all. They had been trying to make him feel comfortable with them. Taking his scent and letting him take theirs. Seeing where would he fit in their dynamics.

Even Steve’s embarrassed comments about how busy Stark was, how it wasn’t that he didn’t want to come and meet him, finally made some sense. Of course the Alpha of the pack didn’t go to visit him. That wasn’t how packs operated. Bucky was an omega, and Steve, who probably was the second alpha in command, must had pushed so he was accepted. The rest of the pack had evaluated him and climatized him to their presence, and the Alpha of the pack had kept his distance so Steve, innocent, rightful, build like a tank Steve, didn’t feel threaten on his claiming.

The fact that Bucky would have bitten off Steve’s dick rather than suck it and that he strongly suspected Steve owns preferences were more in the land of being the personal ragdoll of Romanoff didn’t seem to have factored in that. But pack’s dynamics sometimes weren’t that rational, that much he knew.

Because, fucking Steve? Eww.

Steve coughed next to him, choking on his next words and half turning towards him, but didn’t have the opportunity to say anything.

“Hey, welcome, little murder machine!” Before he could react, Bucky saw himself with the full weight of Clint hanging from his neck, followed by a happy squeak of that bloody clown when Bucky didn’t even bulge under it, just squared his shoulders and tipped his head back to avoid the kiss Clint was trying to give him.

“No” he grunted.

“Aww, but I am just trying to make you feel at home!” Steve little guffaw didn’t help at all, just seemed to spur Barton on. “Pretty please, you know how much sex I will get tonight if Phil gets to see you giving me some tongue?”

Bucky catched him by the waist, holding him in the air for a second before forcing him to let him go and keep him very much at an arm distance before answering. “I thought his unhealthy obsession was with Steve.”

“What” Steve whispered, stopping dead on his tracks on his way to Romanoff, who had appeared following Clint. “Who told you that?”

“Duh, I mean, yes, sure, but he didn’t spend his teenager years polishing it to his photo, if you follow me.”

“What?!”

“Clint, stop trying to scar Barnes. You are breaking Steve in the process.” Natasha’s voice sounded amused, but Bucky was busy thinking about it.

“Your alpha would like to see us making out?” That was… kind of hard to believe. His mind went back to all the times Clint had seemed unusually attached to him, something that Bucky had thought was just an exuberant nature and tendency towards pushing the limits, all of them, at the same time. So, yes, he had thought Clint Barton was a dead wish with legs and good aiming skills who found really funny to hug and cuddle a brain-washed asset. The dork had even said so while blinking flirtatious at Natasha in one of their visits.

But now that he knew about the pack… Maybe he had been paving the way for something more. Not group sex, he didn’t see Natasha sharing Steve’s ass any time soon, but packs did tend to blur the usual boundaries, specially with unclaimed omegas. And Bucky was the only unclaimed omega present. So maybe Clint’s alpha, that Coulson that he hadn’t meet yet even while having smelled him all over Barton, wouldn’t mind that Clint himself went playing a little bit around with another omega. Which was understable.

But. Fucking Barton. Not as eww as Steve, but a little bit eww. Bucky couldn’t see himself going to town with somebody that smelled that strongly of an alpha that didn’t attract him.

“Clint, that’s enough…” Steve took a step towards them, furrowing his eyebrows and looking suddenly concerned. Behind him, Natasha made a little “oh” noise, sounding almost surprised.

“Hell yes.” Clint ignored them both; Bucky didn’t believe even for a moment that he hadn’t noticed them. “Omega on omega action? That’s the stuff of the good porn, baby.”

Bucky was about to say something along the lines of “I don’t see the appeal” when another voice interrupted them.

“Who said omega on omega action and how can I participate? Because I volunteer as a…” And what followed could only be described as a hiccup. Or a really high squeak.

Suddenly Bucky’s whole body locked up, tensing all over again. Because he didn’t recognize that voice, but the smell of alpha hit him like a brick wall, fresh and all encompassing. He moved on automatic, raising his eyes from Clint to the figure of Tony Stark, that had stopped just at corner of one of the halls, looking at him without blinking.

“I…” he started to say, not knowing exactly what he wanted to say. Thank you for accepting me in your pack? Sorry for almost allowing Hydra to kill you? Don’t worry, Steve is not going to tear you in half if you get close to me, it’s not like that? Please, please, I want to smell like pack too?

Dear God, did he want to smell like pack. Being part of a pack would make things _easy._

But he didn’t say anything. Because Stark looked at the ceiling, turned around and went back the way he had come. Steve called him, almost shouting, but Stark disappeared around the corner without an answer. Bucky was left with the burning feeling that, had been there a door, it would had been slammed shut.

And well. Fuck.

 

* * *

 

 

“Bucky, I swear, he knew you were coming. I did tell him.”

“Did you?” He felt he had said that same thing a million times already, but it was worth to repeat it one more time. For the people in the back, as Clint had said. “Because THAT was not how somebody that knows I had been coming here reacts!”

Steve sighed behind him, and when Bucky finished another lap around the sitting room, he saw him with his head tipped back, eyes closed and a grimace as if he was suffering a headache. Fucking liar, he couldn’t get headaches anymore.

“Ok, so he didn’t expect you to be right _here_ right at _that_ moment, so what? You surprised him, he acted surprised, you both will live. Can we please drop the interrogation?”

“Did he said I could come here?”

“Oh my fucking.... Bucky! We have been at this twenty minutes and…!”

“Because, because!” he raised his voice, drowning Steve’s. “I swear, if you didn’t ask him before, if you went behind his back and brought me here without him accepting it before, I will…” What? He would probably cry as a baby and shame himself even more. How could the perspective of not being allowed to be part of a pack that the didn’t even know existed until two hours ago hurt so much? It was absurd, but it was his absurd reality. For a second he had been able to see some future, some way to keep going forwards that didn’t imply crawling after Steve just to not leave him alone, to not make him suffer more. He had seen a path that made things easier for him for once, and not difficult and confusing and painful.

And now maybe he had lost that chance because Steve had challenged the pack’s Alpha bringing him there. Fuck, it could even destroy the whole pack.

“I didn’t do it behind his back” exhaled Steve, falling again against the cushions.

“But did you ask him?” he pressed.

“Ask what.”

“Ask if I could come here!”

“He wasn’t against you coming here, Bucky, damnit. He even took care of all that red tape and political shit so they couldn’t treat you like a prisoner, come on.”

“But you didn’t ask him. He never said yes to me coming here, did he?” And while he worded it as triumph, something inside him died a little bit. He had trespassed the Alpha’s territory, after all.

Steve seemed to be about to go back to the discussion, but he stopped after opening his mouth and closed it again, thinking for a second. “It… really is important for you. That we didn’t specifically asked him about it.”

Bucky just stared at him, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Duh.

“I… I am sorry. I didn’t realize, I didn’t want to make you upset. But I promise, Tony is not going to kick you out. He got your room ready, bought everything you might need. I mean, you have already seen all those clothes, right? He is fine with it, Bucky, more than fine, really. He doesn’t do this for just anyone we bring here, he wants you here too. Please, don’t feel like…”

Oh, fuck him. “You are smelling me again.”

Steve cringed, adding it to his guilt. “ I am so sor…”

“And you didn’t tell me about the pack!”

That made Steve wrinkle his nose, caught off hand. “Uh? What pack?”

Lord, Bucky felt like pulling his hair out.

“Your pack!”

“I… don’t have a pack?”

Bucky stopped breathing, grounding his teeth. The cushion flying towards Steve’s dumb face was almost a surprise for him too.

Steve allowed it to hit him, too confused to worry about that right now, it seemed, and just left it on one side after it fell on his lap. “Bucky, I don’t have a pack. You know that’s… primitive. It already was, even on our time.”

“Oh, don’t start with that. I might have had my brain fried out of my ears” Steve shrunk on himself, but he kept going, “but I am not a completely idiot, not yet. And I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me, why no one told me, and why would you go behind the back of your Alpha to bring me here! Were you afraid of how I would act?”

“No, wait, no.” Steve got up, hands in the air, asking for a moment. “There’s no pack, no one here has a pack because we are not animals and that’s a horrible way to establish a community…”

“You are so not lecturing me right now.”

“Bucky, your first thought at coming here is that we are a pack? You are getting a lot more than one lecture! Is that, is that why you smelled repulsed before…?”

Bucky squinted at him, but Steve barreled on.

“You have nothing to worry about. There’s no pack. There’s no dynamic. There’s no hierarchy. I haven’t brought you here to be my omega, nor the omega of any pack, so…”

“Of course not” he had to interrupt. Steve’s omega? Come on now.

Steve seemed to relax a bit. “Oh. See?”

“I never would be your omega. That… eww.” Steve actually laughed at that, nodding. “I would be Stark’s, if it come to that. You brought me here, so he isn’t going to take me away, but he does have to accept me first in the pack, Jesus, Rogers.”

“What? Why Tony’s…? I, I thought that the available omegas went to, uh, you know, the Alpha…?”

“Which you are not” finished Bucky, feeling pleased. So Steve actually knew how his pack worked, which was good. Now Bucky could convince him to go and ask Stark properly about him. They could still avoid fucking everything up.

Even if Steve’s gaping fish act didn’t help at all.

 

* * *

 

 

He stirred the eggs once more, frowned at the result and, with a sigh, platted the meal before turning around and leaving it in front of Steve.

“You are going to give Captain America colesterol” deadpanned Clint, watching hipnotized how Steve finished the plate he had been eating and grabbed the one Bucky had just left there. “I don’t know if I should worry or be impressed.”

Steve shrugged, swallowing. “It’s perfectly fine food. I am not going to waste it.”

“It’s not fine” answered Bucky. He opened the tablet once again, perusing the receipt. There had to be something, he had to be missing something.

“Bucky.” Steve stopped and drunk some water. “It’s really, really fine. Tastes even better than your four try, and that one was delicious.”

“It’s not fine!” snapped Bucky, stamping the tablet against the counter. There was a crash, and when he looked down saw that he had broken the screen, turning what should have been a bloody easy recipe (omelette with vegetables, how difficult could it be?) into a jigsaw of colors and rainbows. “Fuck!”

“What was that?” Bruce stopped at the door, halfway inside the kitchen. Bucky didn’t need to turn to feel how the beta stared at him. “Oh, no. Is this another pancakes incident? I thought we had left it behind us.”

“It’s not the pancakes.” Clint took another fork from the drawer and stole a bit of omelette, making kissy faces when Steve glared at him, mouth to full to reprimand him.

“The pancakes didn’t work.” It didn’t matter, he didn’t need the tablet. He could make the omelettes work. He had to. It had been more than a month already. _Something had to work_.

“We have an omelette incident” kept saying Clint. “Fucking Hell, a really good omelette.” He tried to grab another bite, but Steve moved the plate away, going as far as to cover it with his arm. “Can we have a cake incident after this? I really want some cake.”

Bruce went to sit at the other side of the table, next to Steve, who looked at him, evaluating, but at the end moved the plate towards him with a pout. Bruce accepted it gladly, humming in appreciation.

“So I understand the whole plan about talking with Tony didn’t work.”

“That idiot keep running in the other direction every time they are in the same room. I tried to open the workshop door for Bucky with my code, but he must have seen it coming, because he changed it before I got to it” sighed Steve, waiting patiently for the next plate that Bucky had already started to cook, cracking eggs over the frying pan.

“You shouldn’t call your Alpha an idiot” muttered Bucky.

Bruce looked at Steve, but he ignored the commentary. “Are we accepting we are a pack now?”

Clint snorted, spinning the fork around over the table. “What about no. But I think our good Captain is more pained that he wouldn’t be Alpha’s pack material if we were. I didn’t expect him to accept our little killing machine misconceptions, but…”

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “But?”

“Natasha had a very stern talk with me. And I am letting it go. For now” answered Steve. He didn’t sound like he was letting it go, but neither was he discussing until losing his voice, like he did on the first days. It was something.

“Until the food phase is over, at least” stated Clint, looking at Steve knowingly. Steve just squared his shoulders, refusing to bite. After that Bucky turned off the whole conversation happening behind him. He was running out of eggs, so this was going to be his last try, and it had to be perfect. He knew Stark was out of the workshop, and in less than 15 minutes he would be coming back from a whole day passed between meetings at the SI floors of the tower. He would be hungry and tired, and, if he could believe what Miss Potts had told him when she found him whining pathetically in front of the workshop doors, begging for an opportunity to prove himself, Stark considered a good omelette as much comfort food as the pancakes. He had to make it.

He platted the final result, stared at him for a second, resigned himself to whatever it would be and --ignoring Steve’s stretched hands and his little cry when the food wasn’t for him-- went towards the hall that connected the ascensor with the Stark’s private rooms. It was an strategic position, unavoidable, just in front of what seemed to be an study at his left and the bedroom, behind him. He probably should have said a prayer, just in case.

Five minutes later, when he was starting to worry that Stark had decided to just go to eat somewhere in the city and he would be left with a cold omelette and the sad pats on the back Romanoff always gave him, the smell of Alpha announced him.

His core muscles tensed in a fight or flight response. But he would fight. This was something that he needed, and the fact that he was in Stark’s territory against his will would not scare him away.

And, easy as that, Stark appeared in the other side of the hall, eyes down and shoulder dropped, as if he was carrying all the weight of the world. He seemed concentrated on undoing the jacket of his three pieces suit, fingers fighting against the tiny buttons. Bucky coughed, trying to not surprise him, but Stark still jumped in the air, bringing a hand over his chest and covering where Bucky knew had been the arc reactor in the past.

“Holy cow, don’t!” he snapped, stumbling a couple of steps backwards. Bucky brought the plate closer to himself, chastised. He couldn’t even give food to the Alpha without making him angry and stressing him. What a disaster.

He tried to mouth some words, but it was like his voice had abandoned him. So instead he forced his metal arm to extend, way more stable than the flesh one, offering the omelette in a silent plea.

Stark stared at him, allowing the silence to stretch for a whole uncomfortable minute. He looked towards the study, probably wanting to make a run for it so he wouldn’t have to suffer the unwanted omega without kicking him out and making Steve angry. But he didn’t make any move to accept the food.

It wasn’t working. He had used all the eggs of the tower, or so it seemed, and it wasn’t working. Feeling more and more distressed, Bucky didn’t actually think his next move, just acted on that gnawing feeling of desperation that hadn’t leaved alone since he arrived at the tower. He inclined his head towards the side, showing his neck as much as he could in a sign of submission, and whimpered low in his throat.

It was as if he had insulted Stark’s mother.

He gaped, stepped back, eyes flashing like a storm, and turned around, fleeing in the other direction and leaving Bucky behind as an idiot.

It was obvious he had to try a new plan.

 

* * *

 

 

Three hours later, and a room way messier than before, proved to be useless. He had searched every drawer, every closet and storage space, and nothing.

Not a fucking sexy shirt in all his belongings.

Bucky grunted, kicking the pile of jeans to one side and getting out of the walk-in closet. How could anyone have so many clothes and all of them be oh-so-presentable? Sure, he had tailored suits that enhanced his shoulders to waist ratio, t-shirts that did _things_ for his arms, and he thought he may have been aware of how his thighs looked in leather even while he still was the Asset. But he had nothing that was, that was…. omega level naughty.

He picked a cashmere jersey, so soft it was like hugging a small and warm animal against his chest. It even looked soft, a navy blue that matched his complexion, with a tight collar, and evaluated how much he was willing to use a scissors on it. It was a good option, one of his favourites garments. Everybody had seen how much he worn it, and more importantly, Tony had given it to him.

He shuddered, feeling something warm in his chest at the thought. Stark may not had accepted him in his pack, but he had provided so much for him, all the while keeping in mind what he would prefer in everything. The bed was against the wall, for example, instead of the huge king bed in the middle of the space that seemed to rule the rest of the building. And all his clothes had closed collars, because the medical report had stated very clearly how the abused omega reacted when exposed.

So of course Tony had showered him in warm, fuzzy, warm tones of clothes with closed collars.

He suddenly felt like sobbing for no reason. He didn’t want to cut the collar open. He wanted to keep the jersey and bask in it.

“Bucky, do you know why it looks like someone raided my room?” Steve’s voice saved him from the deeply depressing perspective of crying over a fuzzy piece of yarn. Fucking mood swings, he needed the pack _now_.

“Because your style is atrocious. You should thank me I didn’t burn those pants” he snapped back, sniffing before turning around to see Steve looking at the room around him with a perplexed expression.

“They are comfortable, and I keep the tight jeans for when Natasha wants to flaunt me around.”

“You have nothing sexy in there!” It sounded like an accusation. Well, for Bucky it had felt like a treason when he checked all of Steve’s clothes and there was nothing that could work. Steve just blinked slowly.

“I have the impression I just mentioned the tight jeans.”

“Those aren’t sexy.”

“I have witnesses who differ.”

“Not. Sexy. Sexy is… is... “ He flapped his hands around, signalling vaguely around his neck and torso.

“Oh.” Steve opened his eyes wide. “Oh! Well, in my defense the neck is not that sexy in an alpha. Which does not mean my clothes aren’t sexy” he added hastily.

“In an… Fuck.” How could have he missed it. “I need Clint.” He kicked another mountain of clothes out of the way, almost sprinting towards the door and forcing Steve to squeeze himself against the wall to not be runned over.

 

* * *

 

 

He felt ready. Clint had spent all afternoon making him try all kind of clothes as if it was his personal Christmas’ gift, and not happy with that he had showered him in some kind of omega perfume that made him smell almost… _wet_.

Oh, and he had finally meet that Coulson guy. Really nice, even if he had took two steps towards Bucky, stopped abruptly, went all red in the face and made some stammered excuse about having work to do at SHIELD. Clint happy purr about expecting quite a fun night that day hadn’t helped him at all.

But he was ready. He smelled good (wet), worn some tight pants (because why not) and displayed even the clavicles in the open collared and soft sweater Clint had decided worked better for him. And he wasn’t going to let Stark go without a resounding acceptance to his pack, or the actual print of his shoes on his ass.

He traced back his steps of the last week, ending again in front of the private rooms of Stark where, if he could trust Romanoff and her patting hands, Tony had to be after being kicked out of the workshop by a fretting Miss Potts after too many hours spent there.

No one had acted surprised that Stark had disappeared in his workshop for the whole week. Honestly, Bucky had started to doubt they were a good pack if the couldn’t notice how much he had offended the Alpha with his doings. He had tried to talk with them about it, and that had been the moment Romanoff had offered to corn Tony for him somewhere and let him know when he was ready, so maybe it had worked a little bit.

He started to march towards the bedroom, getting ready to be adorable, soft, available and whatever it would take to achieve his goal. A flash of light to his right made him squint and slow down, and when he looked he noticed for the first time that the door to the studio was open, just a tiny bit, letting pass the light from inside.

He doubted for a second. Sure, the studio wasn’t as personal as the bedroom, but the bedroom door was closed and he planned to knock. But the studio… He could knock, but he didn’t know if there was another room that connected with it. What if Stark decided to avoid him as soon as he heard the knock and escaped? Part of him tried to tell him he was exaggerating, but that part was an idiot if it wasn’t having into account that Stark had managed to avoid him for more than a month, for fuck’s sake! So he stepped in without warning.

It took him quite a while to notice that there wasn’t anyone in the studio, but who could blame him. Because suddenly he was surrounded, completely surrounded, by his own face.

“Oh.”

He looked around, bewildered. There were posters, metal lunch boxes, toys, comics. There in the back a mannequin worn what seemed to be a reproduction of his blue coat, the one he remembered to have favored quite a bit in the war, and at his left a window display contained an old sniper rifle. He could see the notches he had carved in the wooden butt in a particularly boring watch at night, more than seventy years ago.

“Please, kill me fast.”

Bucky turned, blinking owlishly and seeing a grimacing Tony Stark at the door, almost hunched down and smelling strongly of shame, shame, shame.

"You collect things about me?" His mind kept repeating that phrase, unable to contain it, like a scratched track.

Tony looked... adorable was the word. The flush was high on his cheeks, visible even with the tanned complexion.

“I can explain, I absolutely can, and I know you already hate me because I am an insensible bastard, but really, if you have to kill me make it fast. And leave a pretty corpse? I want Rhodey to be able to cry over me, it’s the least I could do for him.”

Bucky looked around himself once more. The studio wasn't small by any means, and it was so full. So full of his life. Of him.

"This is..."

"I am so sorry, I didn't want to creep you out, it's just a thing, it started a long time ago, when I was a child, and, I don't know, it kept snowballing and..."

"...amazing" whispered Bucky, cutting Stark off. "It's like my own museum. Howard gave you all this?"

Tony snorted.

"As hell. He hated everything related to you. I mean" he was fast to add when Bucky just stared at him, eyes wide open. "Not you. He didn't hate you. He hated that I liked your things. No, wait, he just wanted me to like Steve's things more. He hated that you were an omega. I-I mean, not that there's anything wrong with being an omega, because there's not. He just didn't want me to be like you. Damn, no, wait, that isn't..."

"I think I am going to stop you right now, before you hurt yourself." He had to try very hard to not start laughing.

"Thank you." The words were full of feeling; Tony muttered them behind his hands, hiding his face from Bucky. Bucky decided to take pity on him, grabbing some kind of plastic cheap toy with a huge head, huge feet and too many colours on its clothes to not be considered a public danger.

"This thing is hideous. I refuse to accept it's me."

He could feel Tony looking at the doll, relaxing slowly. He wondered if he was peeking between his fingers, and had to contain another guffaw of laughter. Did this man really terrify him before today? He was lovely.

"The 80s where crazy. I am pretty sure the people who designed it where high while doing it."

"And no one noticed?"

Tony stepped closer, appearing on his peripheral vision and shrugging. "Ehh, being honest, we were all pretty high. The public probably thought it looked spiritual or something. LSD does strange things to you."

"But why me?" It didn't make any sense. He was nothing. He was a murderer. A tool. An asset. Somebody that still hadn't proved his worth to the Alpha's pack.

Stark breathed deeply. "Do you really want to know?"

"I think so, yes." 

"Well then. I have spent most of my life wanting something like you, someone like you. Someone that would be there for me no matter how much I fucked up, because Heavens know I always end fucking everything up. So I started collecting things about you, when I was just a child, toys and comics and the likes of it, dreaming about finding my own Bucky Barnes. And it wasn't an alpha thing." He actually cringed when he said it, and Bucky felt tingles in his chest. "And then, after the reactor and after Stane and... Suddenly I realized it might have not been an alpha thing, a-a sex thing, but it didn't matter. Because I was so _fucking selfish_ anyway."

The words were so full of hate, of despise, that they made Bucky actually rock on his heels as if it was a physical blow. "What? No."

Tony just squared his shoulders and raised his chin. "Yes, it was. It was selfish and childish, and I am able to recognize it wasn't right, even if it wasn't by all the reasons Howard hated it. I expected the world to cater to me, to take care of me, but I never took responsibility, I never took care of anyone. That had to change. Iron Man couldn't be a childish man who wanted cuddles. It had to be better. And you..." His voice was little more than a whisper. "You were better. You are better."

"You wanted... to be like me?"

Tony looked down, shrugging slightly. "The whole country had this motto after the war, you know. They even made like, posters and so. 'What would Captain America do?' Mine turned out somewhat different after the, well." He touched his chest. "After everything that happened. It was 'What would Bucky Barnes do?' Because it didn't matter how hard it was, how much it took out of you, you always took care of your people, didn't you? I mean, you managed to keep Rogers alive when he was just an angry soaked kitten who liked to get punches on his face too much, and that says it all. Jesus, you hate me and even so tried to take care of me. You made me an omelette and brought it here yourself!"

Bucky stopped, leaving the LSD toy back on his spot and turning slowly towards Tony. "But I don't hate you" he tried to defense himself, voice low. Was that why he hadn't been accepted in the pack? Because the Alpha thought he despised him?

"No, no, it's fine. I understand. I fucked it up. You had been a grand total of, what, three minutes in the tower? And after being so careful, trying to get everything right in, in your room, and not visiting you at SHIELD like all the others because I don't care how effective Steve's puppy eyes are, the doctors were very clear about not stressing you, and hello, unknown alpha stomping around in your space is a big no even for me, after all that... I go and the first words out of my mouth is that I want omega on ome... I mean. I talked about sex." He coughed, looking around. "So really. Completely fine. I get it."

"But I don't hate you!" Was this a nightmare? It felt like a nightmare where he had turned invisible. Tony tensed next to him.

"I can't smell you. You heard me, that day, and when I stepped in you didn't smell like anything. And then, every time afterwards, you never smell like anything, ever. Every time I am there it happens. And I want you to feel comfortable, to feel at home, and if my presence makes you uncomfortable, so uncomfortable that you just lock everything inside, then..."

"No one can smell me!" He actually grabbed Tony by the shoulders, shaking him lightly. "No one, it's not you, I am not angry. It just a, a thing!"

Tony frowned at him. "I have heard Steve talking about how you smell."

Bucky gapped. "That's it. I am going to kill him." He let Tony go and stepped towards the door, but he had to stop and turn towards Tony once more. "Can you smell me now?"

"Uh." The blush was back, clawing slowly up towards his ears. "Kind of."

"How do I smell now?"

"I don't feel comfortable..."

"How."

"It's a perfume, that Wild Sunday thing, so it doesn't..."

"It doesn't mean anything?" Bucky raised an eyebrow, trying to control the temper he was starting to feel.

"Exactly!"

"Except it would mean a lot if I didn't smell like anything, ever, to anyone that didn't have the senses of a supersoldier and I actively choose to put it on before coming to talk to you. So I could smell like something I would want to smell right now." Tony sputtered, but Bucky didn't let him add anything. "And the jersey."

"It's Clint's, so I thought, he was just..."

"I asked him for it. To come to talk to you. And the perfume wasn't my idea, but it's growing on me. I think it makes me smell... well. I am sure you know how."

Tony nodded, trying to keep his eyes fixed on Bucky's face. There wasn't much success there.

"So, maybe, next time you could stay when I come into a room." He stepped closer, angling his head just so to show a little bit his neck, just a tiny bit, making Tony swallow hard and wet his lips. His stomach answered with tingles at that action.

"Yes, yes, of course."

"And when I make food again..."

"It would be my, my pleasure. That one time, the omelette, it smelled... really good. And Natasha keeps talking about pancakes?"

"Pancakes I can do." He was right in front of Tony, feeling hyper aware of his warmth and scent so close. Tony looked at his lips, and Bucky parted them in a soft sigh, as if answering a question. "Does that mean I am part of the pack now?"

"What pack...?"

Bucky didn't give him the option of keep talking, brushing his lips in a soft kiss. Bunch of idiots. It was clear he would have to be the one taking care of the whole pack. They were blind like bats.

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  



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